


a safe haven from the hunt

by Winter_Lantern



Series: a soft place to fall [2]
Category: Bloodborne (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anxiety, Character Death Fix, Crack, Crack Treated Seriously, Fix-It, Fluff, Friendship, Gay Hand Holding, M/M, Mutual Pining, Pining, Pre-Relationship, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Unresolved Romantic Tension, Xenophobia, also fun platonic hand holding, and even Gayer Hand Holding in chpt 2, it's nothing you won't hear in the game, only a lil bit from the old woman tho, romantic tags have nothing to do with kids obviously, somewhat dialogue heavy, the dweller still has issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-19
Updated: 2020-04-17
Packaged: 2020-05-01 21:56:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,506
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19186186
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Winter_Lantern/pseuds/Winter_Lantern
Summary: the chapel dweller wonders, ponders, and pines, and the good hunter marion returns to the chapel with a new survivor in tow.12/16/19 -- chpt has been edited for posterity!! (but mainly just to make it better haha)





	1. a new arrival, bundled and small

**Author's Note:**

> *final pam voice* i will take hammer and fix the canon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 12/16/19 -- edited this bad boy to add a few details i forgot, clean up the flow, and fix some spelling errors i didn't notice the first time around!!! ༼⁰o⁰；༽

Marion hasn’t been away from the chapel long enough to warrant the incessant worry that has taken up most of the dweller’s thoughts. 

 

Dread has been gnawing away at his calm facade and forcing his thoughts into fretful circles for countless minutes now – and perhaps the worst part of it is that there’s no real reason for it! Marion is more than capable of handling himself and had left Oedon Chapel well rested and in high spirits!

 

Yet nothing the dweller tells himself stops his anxieties from running amok. His fears are a veritable maze of unpleasant dead ends and dark ponderings. 

 

It's not something that be helped, truly. Any resident of Yharnam is well aware of the dangers of a hunt. It is the reality that must be faced time and time again, and it is all too easy to imagine Marion confronting each and every one of those dangers. It's all too easy to imagine the worst, to allow these dark thoughts to spiral down into even more harrowing imaginings. 

 

All of it makes the dweller's head spin and his chest ache.

 

And his mental prayers for the hunter’s safety do oh so very little in alleviating his stress! It doesn't help that he has no way of knowing if the gods are even listening... His fingers twist and turn among themselves, free to express his internal agony in their own way with his mind much too preoccupied to put a stop to it. 

 

He cannot help but toil over the questions that are eating away at him: is Marion is all right out there? Is he is taking proper precautions? And keeping the strange gun contraption on his sword loaded? Is he sticking to the safer pathways that are hidden within the town and… and…? 

 

A sigh escapes him as he rubs at his face with a hand.

 

It is so senseless to worry so much over what he cannot change. 

 

Yet he feels a connection with the hunter unlike anything he had ever felt before! Marion had revealed a deep secret to him, and he in turn spoke of things that he had never mentioned to others before. The hunter had hugged him, told him his name, _smiled_ at him in a way no one else ever had. As if he cared for him, as if he… he _mattered_ to Marion. 

 

It all makes the dweller’s heart hurt in such a beautiful, wonderful way. And surely the hunter must treat everyone with that same kindness – it is simply impossible to imagine anything else! – but the dweller cannot help but smile regardless, knowing that he had shared something special with the hunter earlier on this very night.

 

Marion had given him his trust, and that was something the dweller would treasure. _Marion_ was someone he would treasure, the hunter having wormed his way into the dweller's thoughts and life as swiftly (and surprisingly) as a diving crow. 

 

It's a strange feeling. One that is not quite strong enough to overshadow the dwellers doubts. His concerns over how Marion might feel or react if he knew of these odd feelings the dweller held for him – feelings even he can not make heads or tails of – or even, well, how long he will allow the dweller to have a place in his life. And yet he cannot bring himself to care, just this once. Even if it's only for the night of the hunt, he will enjoy Marion's companionship for as long as he is able! 

 

(Even though there is a greedier side to this dilemma that he doesn't dare acknowledge – that deep down, he cannot help but want for more. It is the same part of him that wonders if, perhaps, the hunter might want to keep his company? 

 

That perhaps, when the dawn has arisen once more and the long night has ended, they could even become _friends_?) 

 

The dweller cannot help his shy smile at the mere thought of it.

 

Unfortunately that is all it can remain: a simple, lovely thought. 

 

His smile falters, and then drops entirely. He was just a lowly man who lived in a chapel after all. What companionship could he offer the hunter that could not easily be found with another? 

 

A distant sound pulls him from his thoughts; he glances up, curiously staring at the open doorway next to him as he listens to the quick pattering of footfalls that are growing closer with each passing second. Running feet are not no surprise during a hunt but for them to be heading to the chapel with such zeal is unusual. The dweller perks up, buoyed by the thought of seeing Marion again so soon, hoping that it is indeed the kind hunter - and sure enough, it is indeed Marion who comes stumbling into the chapel. 

 

The dweller's smile returns in an instant, but any budding sense of relief disappears as the hunter suddenly drops to a knee, his laborious breathing rattling around the inside of his helm. 

 

"Marion?" he calls out, his concern deepening as he notices the sheet-covered figure that the hunter is clutching close to his chest. It’s small enough for Marion to hold it easily in his arms, and a dawning sense of horror fills the dweller’s chest even before he sees the pair of small feet sticking out of the sheet's end. 

 

When Marion responds to the dweller, his voice is breathless and heaving, as though he had run the entire length of Yharnam. "Everything... everything is fine." His other knee joins the other on the ground, and Marion shifts around until he is sitting with the bundle in his lap. "I only exerted myself more than I thought." 

 

The dweller's eyes roam over what is visible of Marion's armor, taking in every smear of blood, dirt, and everything in between with a troubled expression. The sheet, he notes, is significantly more clean than the hunter himself. "Are ya sure everything's all right?" 

 

"Oh, yes! Yes..." Marion clears his throat. "I am very sorry, I – I didn't mean to alarm you." 

 

"No need to apologize," the dweller says right as the figure in Marion's arms shifts, catching both of their attentions.  

 

“Ah! So sorry for the wait." A huff of laughter escapes from the inside of Marion's helm. His words are directed towards the sheeted figure in his arms, and a palpable sense of relief floods through the dweller at the confirmation that whoever is under there is still _alive_. Marion props the figure up, carefully letting it gain some footing before moving to unravel the sheet. "You can look up now. Nothing is going to hurt you here." 

 

The blonde head of a child pops out of the cloth cocoon as it falls away, her eyes blinking as they roam over the chapel and her mouth opening with a tiny gasp. 

 

“Beautiful, is it not?” Marion pulls the sheet away, carefully folding it up in his hands before setting it aside. “This is Oedon Chapel.”

 

“I know,” she answers. “I’ve come here before with my mum.”

 

Yet she cannot seem to take her eyes away from the chapel’s architecture, as if she has never seen anything quite like it...

 

Although if the girl’s mother had brought her, then it was likely that the building had been full of bustling people, blocking out much of the finer architecture it contained before this hunt began. It probably seems like an entirely new building while so devoid of life and crumbling from disrepair.

 

Marion's voice cuts through the dweller's thoughts, tugging his attention back to him. “I am sorry to barge in like this,” his hand motions towards the child, “but I found another survivor who is in need of a safe place to stay.” 

 

The dweller looks away from Marion and back to the girl. A child. She seems better cared for than a waif, but she is still awfully small… certainly no older than six years old. 

 

A sense of pity fills the dweller's heart as the girl's eyes meet his. They appear impossibly large on her small face and are filled with an innocence that he has not seen in a long time. She is much too young to have to be pulled from whatever feeble safe haven she had been left in, much to young to be braving the horrors of the hunt. 

 

Then again, is there such a thing as being old enough to have to face such an event when your home is Yharnam? 

 

“Genevieve,” Marion whispers as he slips a gentle hand over her shoulder, pulling her attention towards him. “This is the man that I mentioned earlier. The one who is taking people in to protect them from the hunt.” He turns to the dweller and continues, “This is Genevieve. I thought it would be best to bring her here.”

 

There is a peculiar tone in Marion’s voice when he says that last sentence, one that implies that there is no joyous reason behind that decision. The dweller's pity slips into sorrow, but he knows better than to say anything now, when he does not know the full story of what has happened. 

 

Instead he looks from the hunter to the child, who watches him in return. Unsure of what else to do raises his hand and gives Genevieve a small wave. “H-hello, Genevieve.”

 

“Hello sir.” One of her tiny hands grab a fistful of her own nightgown as she twists in place. “Um… thank you for letting me stay here.”

 

“Oh! Y-you’re very welcome. You’re welcome to stay as long as you’d like!”

 

A small smile curls at the girl’s mouth and the dweller cannot help but return it. She seems rather nervous - which is to be expected, given the circumstances - but her politeness is a surprise for the dweller. Children are not a common sight within the chapel, but with them came the familiar judgmental stares and purposeful avoidance that often accompanied the adult visitors. 

 

He cannot recall ever seeing Genevieve before today, but he knows that she was not one of those cruel few. It leaves the dweller with a strange feeling; he is glad to have met her, but knowing that the hunt is what has brought then into acquaintanceship leaves him with an empty feeling. 

 

Marion stands, gaining the dweller’s attention, and then the girl’s as he moves his hand from her shoulder to her head. “Well then, I believe we should get you settled in. Are you cold, Genevieve?”

 

“A little.”

 

“We should find you something a bit warmer to wear. Do you want to walk or shall I carry you?”

 

Her eyes light up and she lifts her arms into the air. “Carry me, please!”

 

A quiet laugh escapes Marion. "Even I am preferable to cold stone, hm?" He bends down and in a single, easy motion, scoops up Genevieve and settles her on his left hip. Her smile, which had seemed so nervous to the dweller, grows into a much wider grin as she grabs onto Marion's shoulder. 

 

Then Marion's attention shifts towards the dweller. “Would you like to come along?”

 

Surprise colors the dweller's expression before he can stop it. Honestly, he doesn’t know if he would have been able to cover it up if he had tried. He's so used to being kept in his little corner of the chapel, only leaving it when something had to be done. And despite all of Marion's kindness, he is shocked that the hunter is offering this. He knows he shouldn't be so surprised - and he does feel a little guilty for making such an assumption - but everything Marion does goes against everything he has experienced in his life. 

 

He is sorely tempted to decline the offer. 

 

The thought of going along with Marion and Genevieve opens up a new level of anxiety deep down in his chest. So much could go wrong; it would open up so many chances for him to ruin this for himself, to say or do the wrong thing and send this man skittering away from him. Much like Marion facing off against the beasts outside, it's easy for his mind to spiral down into worst-case scenarios for his interactions with the hunter. And like before, he knows that there is no point in torturing himself like this! Yet he can't stop... it is just all too easy to imagine the worst coming true. 

 

But in spite of it all, he still really, _really_ wants to say yes. “Oh! W-well, if neither of you mind then… then I - I suppose I could.” 

 

“Not at all!” The hand that isn’t holding Genevieve extends out towards the dweller, palm up in offering. “Would you care for a hand up?”

 

The dweller stares at the offered hand. He can feel himself leaning away from it and stops himself – hoping and  _praying_ that Marion had not noticed. He doesn’t want the hunter to think he’s flinching away because of him. Because that certainly is not the case! 

 

No, it’s just... so overwhelming. The dweller cannot recall a time when someone had welcomed his touch like Marion does. Honestly he can hardly believe it! There is a part of him that expects Marion to shudder and pull away the moment he takes his hand. 

 

But Marion wouldn’t have offered if it wasn’t all right with him, right? He had yet to shy away from the dweller since they had met and had no qualms with taking his hands in a comforting grasp before. He had even hugged him, after all! 

 

He shifts nervously, glancing between the face of Marion’s helm and his offered hand before he finally reaches out and accepts it. The glove’s leather is just as warm as he remembers, and Marion’s grip is firm and supportive. His fingers curl loosely around the hunter’s palm, the hunter’s fingers tightening around his in return. The dweller's tongue turns to lead in his mouth as he stutters out a few fumbling words of thanks. He cannot even make himself look Marion in the helm as he speaks, but it doesn’t deter the hunter from helping him stand. 

 

Marion pulls him upwards and the dweller does his best to get his feet beneath him, with some degree of success. Rising from the stone floor after sitting for so long is an uncomfortable affair and the dweller’s body let’s its protests be known. His body strains against the change in position. His joints pop and his spine cracks, his legs aching as emaciated muscles struggle to help push him into a standing position. He almost regrets doing it once he gets upright; he can't quite stand up straight, his legs feel like pins are sticking them, and it's all he can do to keep himself from wobbling. 

 

But he won't be put off or sit back down, because honestly it feels good to be _standing_. 

 

There’s a soft giggle and the dweller glances up at Genevieve, who’s watching him with a smile as she says, “You sound like grandpa when he stands after sitting for too long.”

 

“I’d like to think I’m not quite that old yet!" The dweller responds, blushing. 

 

Genevieve's grin widens in response, her tiny foot swinging back and forth in a slow rhythm. Even Marion chuckles at the exchange, the tinny sound of his laughter echoing slightly in his helm. The banter is so relaxed, the dweller can't help but smile along too. A warmth blooms in his chest like a sunrise, bright and happy. It is an easy feeling to become swept up in and the dweller forget about his aching body and nervous thoughts. 

 

A quick squeeze on his fingers yanks him from his reverie. He looks over to see his fingers still in Marion's palm, the hunter's fingers wrapped around his own in a gentle hold. 

 

His hand is still held in Marion’s. 

 

The realization is like a splash of icy water over the short-lived warmth of his mood. He hasn’t a single idea how he could have forgotten that so quickly. Physical contact with others was not something he was given often – yet with Marion it seems to come so easily. 

 

His _hand_ is in _Marion’s_. 

 

It’s so strange and new and – well, not _unwelcome_ certainly, but it doesn’t quite sit right with the dweller. When Marion had touched him earlier it had been to comfort him, but now they are only standing here. There is no reason for Marion to continue holding his hand, at least no reason that the dweller can think of. 

 

And while his anxiety is definitely at the forefront of his thoughts, pounding away at his thin veneer of calm, there is something else hovering just below it. Something that makes his heart beat quicken.

 

It certainly isn’t something that he wants to address right here in this very moment either.

 

He gives Marion an awkward half-smile in apology before casting his eyes towards the ground and pulling his hand back. The hunter’s hand hovers in the air for half a second before falling away, positioning itself to support Genevieve’s back.

 

There’s a long moment of silence between them, lingering on until the dweller can’t take it anymore.

 

“I’m sorry!”

 

“I apologize!”

 

Marion’s voice rings out at the same moment the dweller speaks. He blinks in surprise as the hunter straightens. The hunter makes a thoughtful sound and Genevieve glances between the two curiously. “I… did not mean to make you uncomfortable.”

 

Understanding dawns on the dweller. “It wasn’t anything you did,” he says quickly, fighting a frown. "Honest, it wasn't." 

 

The dweller does not think his voice is quite convincing enough, but Marion accepts it. “Well, I’m grateful for that,” he says with a nod. “Now, shall we head off?” 

 

“Yes,” Genevieve answers. The dweller nods in agreement, fingers twitching as he bites at his lip. He glances at Marion as they walk, wondering if the hunter is truly so accepting of his feeble assurance, but that single glance is enough to make the dweller's stomach pitch and roll unpleasantly. 

 

So instead he looks at the girl. Genevieve's head moves as though on a swivel as they walk, looking around at anything and everything that catches her attention. It's a curious sight, how fascinated she is with everything she sees. He cannot help but wonder what it is about this chapel – a place that has grown so familiar to him – that garners her interest so thoroughly. What does she see that makes this place so special? 

 

It is only because he is already watching her that he notices when her attention is caught by something. Or rather _someone,_ he realizes as he follows her gaze to the elderly woman.

 

The woman has barely spoken to him since Marion had brought her here. Barely even looked up from her knitting, to be honest, but now she’s watching their small group carefully, her knitting needles frozen in her white-knuckle grip. 

 

When the dweller catches her gaze, her eyes sharpen into a glare beneath the low brim of her cap. “Got a child now, hm?” 

 

The question is not aimed at him, but the dweller still flinches. A familiar knot to form in his stomach at her vitriolic tone, and he shuffles half a step back behind Marion before he can stop himself. 

 

Marion - gods bless his heart - takes a step forwards, blocking the dweller farther from the woman's gaze. “Yes,” he answers with cool politeness. “Her name is Genevieve. I brought her in from the hunt, so that she would be better protected.” 

 

The girl lifts her hand in a small wave of greeting.

 

The old woman just scowls in return. “You best not be going ‘round and snatching children from their homes. We might let you outsiders get away with a lot but the hunt don’t change nothing on kidnapping.” 

 

The dweller can see Marion stiffen at the accusation and he wishes that he was brave enough to speak up in defense of the hunter. If there was ever a person who did not deserve to suffer the harsh words of a Yharnamite, the dweller was sure that it was Marion! 

 

But even if he was brave enough to admonish the woman, what good would it do? Would the opinion of _another_ outsider - one who was even more obviously different than Marion - really do any good in this situation? 

 

However, Genevieve apparently had no such qualms about speaking. She straightens in Marion’s grasp, pushing herself up higher using his shoulder, until she is sitting up tall with her chest puffed out. “Mister Marion wouldn’t do such a thing! He’s a nice man!” 

 

The woman snorts. Her hands start moving again, fingers twisting and shifting her needles as she resumes her work. “It would do you well to not hang around outsiders, girl. They’ll poison your mind, till you can’t tell the truth from their lies.” 

 

Genevieve goes ridged in Marion’s arms. The dweller cannot see her face but it is not difficult to imagine that her expression is one of anger. His stomach clenches in anxiety when he sees the girl's shoulders lift as she inhales a breath, clearly preparing to perform some sort of verbal assault-- 

 

Only she doesn't get the change to begin her attack. Marion pulls her tighter against him and turns away from the older woman, one of his hands dropping down to usher the dweller along with them. "Let's go," he mutters as he whisks them away. 

 

Genevieve twists in Marion's arms, mouth open in preparation to protest, but her eyes catch the dweller’s. She slumps back down against Marion’s shoulder, now just glaring back at the old woman.  They make it onto the stairs that lead them down into the living quarters when Genevieve finally goes completely limp against Marion, slipping down so her head rests against his shoulder. “What a mean old lady...” 

 

“Do not be harsh, Genevieve.”

 

She shoves herself up off his shoulder so she can properly look at Marion, a scowl twisting her young features. "It's true!" 

 

Marion stops in the hallway, and the dweller does the same. Maybe he should give them some privacy to talk, but he is curious to hear what this child has to say. He does not think he has even seen someone from Yharnam try to defend an outsider so vehemently. 

 

“Perhaps you are right.” Marion’s tone is resigned. “People can be cruel when they are afraid or do not understand something. And from what I have gathered, Yharnam’s fear and misunderstanding reaches its peak when a hunt is on.” 

 

“That doesn’t mean they can say what they want.”

 

“You are certainly right on that, and I commend you on standing up for what you feel is right! But I find it best to avoid confrontations on such matters. Argument offers few rewards when faced with ignorance. I will not speak for everyone, but when I am met with fear and misunderstanding, I try to meet it with compassion.”

 

The girl’s face shifts into an expression that shows exactly how she feels about _that_ sentiment. Marion lets out a quiet laugh.

 

“All I am saying is that you needn’t fight on my behalf.” Marion resumes walking, looking over his shoulder at the dweller and motioning for him to follow. “It would not do for you to be getting into arguments with little old ladies, hm?” 

 

“I suppose not…” she concedes with a hum, her stiff posture loosening up. 

 

“Then I am glad we agree.” Marion nods and stops, setting Genevieve down carefully. “We are here,” he tells her, motioning towards the closest door. “There is not much clothing to be found if my previous trip down here is anything to go by, but surely we can find you something to keep you warm.”

 

Genevieve smiles up at him. “Thank you.”

 

“You are most welcome.” There’s a gentle lit to his voice and the dweller can imagine him smiling behind his helm. “Would you like help looking?”

 

Genevieve shakes her head. “I can look on my own,” she says as she walks to the nearest door and puts her hand on the handle. “But thank you for offering.”

 

“All right,” Marion says. “Find something that will keep you warm enough.”

 

The girl nods as she disappears into the doorway, pushing it closed behind her until there is hardly more than a sliver of an opening left.

 

The dweller stares at that empty space until a metallic sigh pulls his attention away. He sees Marion slumping back against the stone wall behind him, slowly sliding down until he is sitting on the floor. A frown etches its way across the dweller face, an expression that only deepens when Marion pulls the helm from his head and moves it to his lap. His own concerned expression is mirrored in the hunter's, and the dweller's stomach twists unpleasantly. "M-Marion?" 

 

“I’m all right.” The hunter tilts his face up towards the dweller and smiles. It’s much too strained at the edges to be genuine and does not quite reach his eyes. The dweller's worry must still show on his face, because Marion continues, “The trip here proved to be quite stressful is all.” 

 

Surely that must be the understatement of the year. “I can hardly imagine what it must be like out there.” 

 

Marion’s smile deepens just enough to seem genuine. "I am sure your imagination could do it justice. You have been here much longer than I, after all." Just as suddenly as his smile had appeared, it falls into a frown as Marion’s expression shifts into something deeply concerned. “I would like to apologize if seeing Genevieve covered in a sheet startled you. I was trying to avoid her getting covered in filth. And, well, to keep her from seeing from seeing anything that a child should not...” 

 

"You only did what ya had to. She must be a very brave girl.” 

 

“She is," Marion agrees. "Much braver than any child should have to be. It is truly a shame that she must go through this.”

 

He's right. And that's the harrowing truth of the matter - the truth of every hunt. The truth for every poor soul who has found their way to this place. 

 

There is nothing that can be done about it, the dweller supposes. The hunt has been a part of Yharnam for as long as he can remember, since forever. But it had never been as bad as this. Never bad enough for children to be pulled from their homes for fear of _their_ safety. 

 

"It's strange," the dweller begins, drawing Marion's attention to him, "that you'd come with someone so young. It's usually safe enough out there for children to stay at home." He steps closer to the hunter and lowers his voice. "What has happened... out there?" 

 

“I am afraid that I do not know. Genevieve told me that her mother had left her at home to look for her father, a hunter, but with the state that Yharnam is in right now… even you told me that this hunt has been a nightmare." Marion shakes his head, a pained expression shadowing his features. “She asked if I would look for them, but I could not find either. I can only hope that nothing has happened.” 

 

The dweller considers offering words of assurance, but decides against it before anything can be said. It would be nothing but empty promises, additional salt in the wound if – gods forbid – something truly _had_ happened to the girl’s parents. 

 

For a mother to abandon her child to brave the dangers of the hunt alone to go _find a hunter_ … well, something horribly dire must have happened.

 

A pang of sympathy for the woman clenches the dweller’s heart. He hopes that she is safe and well.

 

Marion's voice pulls him back to the present. “I keep having this awful thought. Of her parents coming back and realizing that she’s gone and not knowing where she went.” Marion bows his head, a curtain of hair slipping down and partially covering his face. “What if the elderly woman is right? The last thing I wish to do is separate a family…” 

 

There is an expression of misery on Marion’s face. A quiet, sympathetic noise escapes the dweller’s throat before he can stop it.

 

He kneels down on the floor beside Marion, settling down closer to the hunter - certainly closer than he ought to be. His legs protest at the movement (his joints ache and his muscles burn, objecting to being forced back down to the floor), but he ignores it in favor of focusing on Marion. “Ya did the right thing.” When the hunter's eyes rise to meet his, he forces himself to hold the contact. It is a small comfort to offer the other man, but it is the only one he can offer. It is so much easier than what he wants to do. 

 

(Because what the dweller wants is to reach out towards the other man, to support him in the same way he had earlier: with the press of his hands and the warm embrace of his body. But the thought of actually reaching out and _touching_ Marion makes his palms sweat and his stomach roil unpleasantly. A thousand what ifs wander his mind, ready to provide him with all of the negative reactions to that contact Marion could have.) 

 

So the dweller keeps his hands clenched together in his lap, where they are safe and can do him no harm as he continues. “What if she got frightened or – or ran out of incense and left her home on her own? At least here she can be kept safe.” 

 

Marion studies him for a moment, considering his words. “Hm, I suppose you are right. But perhaps I should go back and leave a note, just in case her parents show up.” 

 

A smile brightens the dweller's face. "That's a good idea! Especially if it'll ease your mind." 

 

A breath of laughter escapes Marion. "Oh, there are so many things that could ease my mind if only I could think of more good ideas. Speaking of which, may I ask you something?" At the dweller's questioning expression, Marion's expression turns sympathetic. "If it makes you uncomfortable or you do not otherwise wish to speak about it, you need only say so and I will drop the subject." 

 

Of course, that only has the effect of turning the dweller's expression into one of worry, but he nods for Marion to continue anyway. 

 

"Do you... often sit in that corner without moving for extended periods of time?" 

 

The dweller blinks twice rapidly. He certainly hadn't expected Marion to ask him _that_. 

 

"I'm sorry!" Marion says quickly, misinterpreting the dweller's silence as embarrassment. "I... well, I only ask because you were sitting in that same position last time I came to the chapel. And it sounded as though you had been in that position for quite some time when you stood earlier." 

 

"You're worried about my health?" 

 

"Of course. And I'm not trying to be condescending! You certainly know yourself better than I would - but I want to mention that if it pains you to walk, I could bring you one of the wheelchairs from outside. I would not say that they are being used right now, anyway, and I would hate to see one rust over if it could be of use for you..." 

 

"Th-that's rather kind of ya, hunter Marion." The dweller cannot quite keep his strange sense of awe out of his voice. A part of him knows he should, knows that to anyone else this would be a small offer. Hardly even a favor. 

 

But it has been a long time since someone had ever shown any real concern for his well-being, let alone his _comfort_. 

 

"Ya shouldn't trouble yourself with it though. I just need to make sure I move about more often, is all!" A daunting task best avoided in usual circumstances. It was easier to avoid getting in other people's way if he stayed put in his little corner, where he couldn't be a bother. But with the hunt on, and the usual residents of Oedon Chapel gone from it's walls, perhaps he could take advantage of this and stretch his legs a bit! He certainly needed it, if Genevieve's earlier comparison to her grandfather had any truth to it... 

 

"All right, but if you change your mind then you only need to say the word." Marion leans closer to him, one of his gloved hands moving to the space on the floor between them to help hold his weight. He continues speaking in a whisper, "I would rather you be comfortable, and I have a feeling that Genevieve might be a handful when she gets bored." 

 

The dweller looks up from where he had been staring at Marion's hand, chuckling nervously at that last comment. 

 

"Um... a bit of a lively one then?" 

 

It was Marion's turn to giggle. "Yes, she--"

 

Marion cuts himself off, mirth gone as quick as it had arrived as he eyes the door Genevieve had went through. 

 

The dweller begins to ask if something is wrong but stops as Marion starts moving. He watches curiously as Marion’s hands pull the length of his hair into a single fist and he quickly begins twisting it up into some semblance of a bun. Holding it together in one hand, he picks up the helm in the other, and slips it over his head, trapping his hair up beneath it.

 

The door opens and the dweller looks over to see Genevieve come shuffling out, now wearing a thick button down over her nightgown. 

 

"Ah, there you are." Marion's voice came out calm, but the dweller could hear a faint tremor in his words. "We were beginning to get worried." 

 

“Sorry - it was hard to look around in the dark. But I found this.” Genevieve holds her arms out as she studies the shirt. The sleeves slip past her hands and hang down limply by a good few inches. “It’s a bit too big though…” 

 

“Yes,” Marion agrees with a soft laugh that sounds less forced than his previous statement. He pushes himself back into standing and steps towards her, running his hand over her head. “But it will keep you warm. Let me grab a blanket for you and then we can head back to the chapel.” 

 

Genevieve nods and steps out from in front of the doorway to allow Marion passage. To the dweller’s surprise, she walks over towards where he is sitting. She plops down next to him with no hesitation, shoving the long sleeves up her arms in a fruitless attempt to free her hands. 

 

Anxiety and, oddly enough, relief start up an argument in his chest cavity. The dweller is grateful that she has decided that he is harmless enough to sit so close to him, but at the same time he is so very unused to people approaching him. At first it was only Marion who was the exception to that lonely rule, and now there was Genevieve. 

 

The poor little girl who seemed so sweet, and who was still struggling with her sleeves and had started grumbling beneath her breath. 

 

It is a display the dweller can only watch for so long before taking pity on her. “Ah—” He clears his throat so that Genevieve will look up at him before continuing. For a second he almost loses his nerve, but makes himself continue. “Do ya want some help with that...?” 

 

She blinks up at him, looks down at her covered hands, and then back to him holding out her arms in his direction. “Yes, please.”

 

He takes the end of the sleeve and starts carefully folding it, rolling it up until it’s clear of her hand. He is careful not to touch her as he repeats the process on her other arm.

 

He’s barely done with her second arm before she moves, breaking his fragile concentration as she points a finger at him. “I like your necklace.”

 

A quiet sound of confusion escapes his lips and he glances down. “Oh,” he says in understanding as he puts a hand under the metal object hanging from his neck. “Th-thank you. It’s, um, a censer actually.”

 

He wonders if he should explain its purpose but Genevieve nods in understanding before he can even decide. “For the incense. Daddy always wore one, even when there wasn’t a hunt.”

 

The dweller blinks. “That’s right.”

 

She sits back on the floor, her feet straight out in front of her, and the dweller can see a new pair of socks covering her once bare feet. They are much too big for her, like the shirt, and the cloth bunches around her ankles, but it will do much more to keep her warm than if she went without. 

 

They both stay like that for a long moment. The girl with her head bowed and staring at her hands and the dweller trying and failing to not seem restless in the silence.

 

Then her voice cuts through the quiet, pulling the dweller’s attention firmly to her. “Daddy is an outsider, just like you and mister Marion.” Her frown deepens and her hands twist the thick cloth of her new shirt. “It’s not fair. What people say about them.”

 

The dweller blinks.

 

It’s the first time he has ever heard a Yharnamite stand up for him – or any other outsider. And her voice, barely louder than a harsh whisper, strikes him harder than any shout.

 

"That's why I yelled at the old lady." She looks up at the dweller then, her expression sad. "I'm sorry that I couldn't do more." 

 

"Don't," the dweller gasps, "please, don't trouble yourself over it. It's - it's as hunter Marion said, you don't have to fight with others for us." 

 

_We're the adults after all..._

 

"That's what daddy always says... and mum..." She exhales loudly through her nose, twitching her feet back and forth. 

 

Unsure of how to respond to that, the dweller chooses to just allow the silence to take over. It isn't a strained one luckily, but he does find himself wishing that he knew how to converse as well as others seemed to. Some people made maneuvering the pitfalls of a conversation look effortless. The dweller always felt like he said or did the wrong thing... not that he often the opportunity to even try. 

 

"Sir?" The dweller looks up at her quiet voice, taking in her frown and sad eyes with a worried expression. "Do you think the hunt will last much longer?" 

 

It is a question that has weighed heavily on his heart since this hunt had started. "I don't know, but I hope it doesn't. They don't last much longer that this, usually." 

 

He didn't mention that they typically didn't even last as a long as this one had, nor were they as dangerous. There was something different about this hunt though. Something that made the dweller fear for all of Yharnam's safety. 

 

Neither were aware of how much time had passed until their musings were broken by the appearance of Marion, who steps back into the hallways with a blanket held in his hands. "I'm sorry that took so long! It was quite a challenge to find something that had not been feasted on by moths." 

 

As if a switch had been flipped, Genevieve is on her feet with a smile, meeting Marion halfway as she takes the blanket from him. She throws it over her shoulders, looking like a tiny queen wrapped in a thick cloak. 

 

Marion voices this aloud, causing both the dweller and girl to smile. Genevieve responds, although the dweller is only half listening at this point. 

 

Most of his attention is on the hunter, as he banters with the small girl, so easily taking her mind off the horrors just outside of the chapel's stone walls. The sight fills the dweller with a calm happiness. It is good to get away from the darkness that lingers every once in awhile - especially when in a place of safety. And the kind hunter Marion, who is always so eager to help others, is the one who is making this possible. He had never expected his request to be taken seriously, and yet here they are with two people safe from the hunt! 

 

The dweller smiles, but there is a sadness that clings to its edges. 

 

It's a gods damned shame that others won't give this lovely man the chance he deserves. 

 


	2. a goodbye, and a new guest's request

Their trip back up to the chapel's main floor is quite unremarkable, with quiet conversation between Marion and Genevieve filling the empty space. Every so often one of them will make a pointed comment or ask a question, pulling the dweller into the conversation for a few short sentences - but truly, he is happy just listening. Although it is nice to know that they are thinking of him. 

 

It has been too long since voices other than his own has graced these old halls. Even though Marion has only brought a couple of survivors it already it feels as though some life has been breathed into the building and, well, it certainly makes the place feel less lonely.

 

 _And_ , he thinks with a smile, _the chapel is surely appreciative._

 

The building always felt different when there were people inside of it. He would go so far as to claim that guests made the chapel feel warmer and more open, as if its patron was rewarding them for their presence. Not that any of the now-gone holy figures sent by the cathedral, meant to lead Oedon's congregation, ever agreed with him... 

 

When they step out of the corridor they walk right into the sights of the elderly woman, and some of those good feelings the dweller had dissipate. She doesn't even have to look up from her knitting to make the dweller want to shrivel up and hide. Something brushes against his shoulder and he flinches, but a glance reveals only Marion's fingers touching him, offering some subtle comfort. He gives the hunter a small smile but still tries to walk in such a way that he will not be easily seen by the woman. But she does not even so much as glance at them as they pass her by - even when Genevieve grumbles and shoots her a glare. 

 

They come to a stop next to the dweller's usual resting spot, he doesn't bother trying to bite back a sigh of relief. It had felt nice to be up and about and he truly appreciated being invited along, but his knees were starting to ache and kneeling on the cool, stone floor did offer some relief. It had been too long since he had last walked around the chapel properly... The last time he had been moving around in earnest had been right before the hunt started, when he was trying to get all of the incense lit in time. He hadn't felt any aches at the time, although he had been running on panic and adrenaline. He should really consider getting more regular walks in to regain some strength in his muscles. Especially if being invited to walk around with Marion was going to become a regular thing! 

 

Less than a meter away, Genevieve touches down on the cool floor. "There you go," Marion mutters as she gets her footing beneath her. 

 

"Thank you, mister Marion." She beams at Marion before turning that same glowing smile towards the dweller. "And thank you too, sir!" 

 

The dweller blushes and murmurs, "Oh, y-you're very welcome..." 

 

"I'm really thankful for all that you've done for me," she continues, looking back towards Marion. "Really, I am! Are you sure I'll be safe here?" 

 

Marion's nods and crouches down so he is closer to her height, placing a hand on her shoulder. "Yes, Genevieve. I promise that you'll be safe here." 

 

She frowns, a rather serious look crossing her youthful face. "On your heart?" 

 

"On my heart." 

 

That makes the child smile, but the dweller can see something strained and sad hidden within the depths of her expression. It tugs at his heartstrings to see it. He cannot help but wonder how many times she has heard those same words before? How many times had someone promised her something, only for that promise to be broken? 

 

"I promise too!" Both Genevieve and Marion turn to look at him and his stomach twists into knots in a sudden bout of fear. But he clasps his hands together and forces himself to continue. "There's plenty of incense here to last the hunt, even one as long as this one. A-and I won't let anything happen to ya. If - if I can stop it, that is, heh heh..." 

 

Genevieve blinks at him for a long moment, before smiling brightly. "And I won't let anything happen to you either!" 

 

He isn't really sure what this little girl would be able to stop, but with her fists planted on her hips and her chin held so high, he also finds that he doesn't doubt her. And he certainly appreciates the sentiment, as does Marion; he affectionately ruffles her hair as he stands back up. "Good. You will be looking out for each other while I'm gone then?" 

 

"Of course!" Genevieve's bright mood falters, her smile slipping from her face as she looks up at Marion. "You're leaving soon, aren't you? To go back to the hunt?"

 

"I am afraid so. But don't fret, I will be back soon, and hopefully with news regarding your parents." 

 

Nodding, she clasps her fingers together in front of her waist. "I hope so too. But, there is something else I need to mention..." Marion tilts his head to the side, silently asking for her to continue. "I have a sister too. She ran off shortly after mum left to go find daddy. She didn't say what she was leaving for, but what if she comes back home and I'm not there? I don't want her to worry." 

 

Her voice warbles as she says that last part, like she's just barely restraining her own feelings. Tears and fear and sadness all roiling just beneath the surface of her skin, coalescing together and making her shoulders shudder. The dweller wants to comfort the child; to reach out and run a soothing hand over her shoulders. He doesn't dare try however, unsure of how she would react. 

 

Marion's helm shifts, as if glancing at the dweller and then back towards Genevieve. "I can certainly keep an eye out for her while I am in Yharnam. Do you have any idea where she might have gone?" 

 

"I know she likes to climb up to the rooftops, but I don’t know where she goes,” Genevieve says with an easy shrug of her shoulders. 

 

In spite of her nonchalance - or, perhaps even because of it - the dweller jolts as though he had been shocked. “She climbs the _rooftops_? In _Yharnam_?” Visions of the town's architecture jump into frame before his mind's eye. Colossal towers with steep roofs arching towards the sky, decorative spikes on every corner's edge reaching up like murderous fingers. Peaks so high above the ground that a single misstep could lead to a deadly fall. His stomach flip-flops at the sheer imagining of such a drop. 

 

Genevieve crosses her arms as she glares down at the floor. “She never lets me go with her...” 

 

“I am sure she has her reasons,” Marion says, quick to offer her some comfort. “I will be sure to keep an eye on the skyline for your sister. I can even check your house later to see if she has returned.”

 

“Would you really?” 

 

“Of course! I wouldn't want you or your sister being left to worry.” 

 

Genevieve lunges forwards and throws her arms around Marion’s waist. “Thank you!” She cries, burying her face into the side of his waist. “You – you’ve done so much for me!” 

 

Marion stiffens at the sudden contact before relaxing and pressing a hand to her back. “I have only done what any person should do." Marion clears his throat awkwardly. The dweller can imagine him blushing beneath his helm sheepishly. He can't help but smile a little at the thought. "Now, would you give me a description of your sister?” 

 

She releases Marion with a nod, and begins listing off her sister's attributes while Marion listens. The dweller watches the sight before him, chewing at his lip as a strange feeling grows in his chest. 

 

When he had asked Marion to keep an eye out for any sane survivors, he really had not believed that the hunter would even listen. The Yharnamites viewed him as strange, an other, an _outsider_ \- but Marion was different. He was a foreigner like him; someone who had heard him and listened. And now there were three of them: himself, the old woman, and now a little girl. Three people who would escape this hunt unscathed! And now Marion was making an effort to find even more people he could bring to the chapel, to _safety_! Marion had listened to him, had taken his request seriously, and now he was able to help others in his own small way. The thought made his chest tighten, his heart beating against the inside of his rib cage. 

 

He has never felt so grateful towards someone before. It's so strange, having known Marion for such a short amount of time and yet feeling so indebted to him. 

 

“Oh, I almost forgot!”

 

Genevieve's voice startles the dweller out of his thoughts. He refocuses his attention on the pair in front of him, where Genevieve is staring pensively and fidgeting her intertwined fingers, tapping her thumbs together. “My sister, she’s, well… not very nice sometimes. She doesn’t mean to be, I think, but she won't trust you easily.” She reaches up and wraps fingers around the bow she's wearing, tugging on it until it is loose enough to slip out. “Please,” she says, holding the bow out towards Marion. “When you find her, show her this. She’ll know it’s mine and she’ll come with you.” 

 

Marion reaches out to take the bow but pauses as Genevieve pulls it back towards her. She appears torn for a moment, staring at the bow as she delicately runs her fingers over it. A new sadness blooms in her eyes as she slowly holds it back out. “Be careful with it. Please.” 

 

Marion takes the bow from her with care, as gently as the dweller has seen mothers hold their children. “I shall have the upmost caution while handling it. No harm will come to it while it is in my possession.” The worry in Genevieve’s face smooths out some. He folds the bow up with delicate movements and tucks it into one of the pouches hanging off his belt. "Do not worry, Genevieve. I will be back with your bow before you know it." He turns his head towards the dweller, watching him for a moment before looking back to Genevieve. "Before I leave, would you mind giving us a bit of privacy, just for a moment?" 

 

Hearing that, the dweller would swear that his heart stopped. And of course Genevieve just nods and pads off towards some of the nearby vases, unaware of his sudden internal plight. Why would Marion want to talk to him privately? Did he have bad news? Had he done something wrong and Marion didn't want her to see him being scolded? Oh gods, what if he—! 

 

His thoughts spiral until Marion appears before him, kneeling down so the dweller doesn't have to crane his neck to look at him. He pushes his helm up, just enough to where the dweller can see his eyes, but his hair is still trapped beneath it. Most of it at least - a few strands of his bangs escape and fall over his forehead and face. He gives the dweller a smile, and he does his best to mirror Marion's expression even as relief floods through him because _Marion doesn't seem to be angry with him._ "I'm sorry that I have to leave again so soon," he whispers. "Truly, I hate leaving when it feels like I have only just returned, but I would like to try finding Genevieve's sister as soon as I can." 

 

“Of course! I completely understand.” And the dweller does understand! Really he does - certainly since this is the child's _sister_ they are talking about. But that does not stop the small seed of disappointment from being planted in his chest. He knows it’s selfish and he curses the feeling, but it doesn’t help it go away. He only wishes that Marion could stay longer, but he can't - no, he _won't_ ask that of him. Not when he was the one who had asked Marion to bring any sane survivors he encountered to the chapel. "I hope ya find her soon. The hunt's no place for a little girl." 

 

"Oh absolutely!" Marion continues, his voice low, "Which is why I have to ask, would you please look after Genevieve while I am gone? She is handling this all so well, but I think someone should be with her right now.” 

 

The dweller blinks and looks past Marion towards the girl. She was standing a few feet away, staring up at one of the chapel's statues. She seems so small compared to the cold stone... even smaller than she does while standing next to Marion. 

 

It's impossible to look at her and not see something terribly delicate. Fragile. 

 

"Don't ya worry, I'll keep her safe here." 

 

Marion smiles, expression soft and sweet and the dweller is so distracted by it that he almost misses it when Marion thanks him. The sight makes the fluttering in his stomach return, and his previous disappointment blooms into a nervous sort of giddiness. Genuine smiles are a rare commodity in Yharnam. Smiles that were meant for the dweller are even rarer, but he is willing to bet that Marion might just have the prettiest smile he's ever seen. It's just so soft and gentle and warm - always so, _so warm_ , like a sunray peaking out from behind a storm cloud - and it inspires these unfamiliar feelings to take up residence in the dweller's chest. The same feelings that made it harder than usual to look Marion in the eye and made him blush whenever he thought about them hugging or holding hands. A part of him wishes that whatever it was would stop! He's awkward enough as it is without turning into a stuttering mess every time the hunter looks at him. 

 

(But still... it is kind of nice, whatever it is.) 

 

The dweller tries to push the feelings aside, fails, and ends up grasping the fingers of one hand in the other just to keep them from twitching. "You’ll be sure to look out for yourself while you're out there, won’t ya?” 

 

Marion’s eyes widen a hair and he blinks. The question goes unanswered for a few moments longer as they both sit in silence. The dweller's nervousness spikes; he cannot tell if he has spoken out of turn or has said something wrong or worse: performed some strange mix of the two. He just barely manages to resist the urge to fill the silence with whatever ramblings come to mind. “I – I just worry… about you. Is all, heh heh…” 

 

There's a blush slowly making its way over Marion's face, turning his pale skin a rather pretty shade of pink. It's not really helping the dweller refrain from babbling, as anxiety threatens to overtake any of the affection that had been growing in his chest. 

 

“That is very kind of you to say.” Marion's gaze softens into a strangely mournful expression. “I'm sorry, you just caught me off guard. It has been quite some time since someone has been concerned for my safety.” 

 

Oh. 

 

That... hadn't quite been the response the dweller was expecting. Perhaps it was presumptuous to make assumptions, but the Vilebloods had always seemed like a tight-knit group - at least, that's how those who had hunted them always made it seem. Their commentary had always been harsh, but the dweller couldn't help but feel a familiar longing when he would overhear the helmeted men's commentary on the "vampire nests". While the Church had seen infestations that needed to be stomped out, the dweller saw a sense of community that, in his opinion, was horribly lacking in Yharnam. 

 

Which made him wonder about why Marion had no one who looked out for him. Didn't he have a family of his own to worry after him? Did they simply not care about his well-being? Or did Marion truly just not have _anyone_ to look after him? 

 

That thought makes the dweller's heart ache. Chewing on his lip, he releases his hand from his own grip and reaches out to place it over Marion's own hand. He can feel that pale gaze on him, but he can't look up, can't make himself look into those pretty eyes. If he does he'll lose every fragile nerve he has managed to snatch hold of. "Well. Then you can have me to be worried about your safety." 

 

There's a choked off noise and the dweller's eyes shoot up in concern, just in time to see Marion shoving his helm back down over his face. 

 

 _Oh gods_ , he thinks, _I've upset him._ But he hadn't really seemed all that upset... and just before his helm had come down, the dweller would have sworn he saw Marion's blush deepen to a pale red as though he was simply embarrassed. Regardless, anxiety begins churning in his chest as he wonders what he said that could have been _wrong_. Until the touch of warm leather on his knuckles pulls him from his thoughts. Looking down confirms that, yes, Marion's hand is resting over his. He bites at his lip to keep from giggling like a nervous schoolboy. 

 

“I will be careful.” Something in Marion's voice sounds off. Softer than usual somehow, and maybe even a bit flustered. "You have my word." 

 

When the dweller looks up, he wishes he was looking into the hunter's eyes rather than metal even though such a thing would have embarrassed him to no end in this moment. Marion's hand slide from the dweller's fingers as he stands, each point of contact between them seeming to linger. It feels like a haunting goodbye and a promise all wrapped up into a single gesture. The dweller's heart swoops and makes an effort to crawl out of his throat. 

 

“I will return as soon as I can.” 

 

The dweller barely manages to find his voice. There is much that he wants to say in this moment, but in the end he can't make any of the words come out. Instead all he can say is, "Take care and good luck." 

 

Marion nods and moves to the door. The dweller notices how his gaze seems to linger, but it is hard to tell with his helm down. More than likely he is just imagining it. As Marion reaches the doorway that leads out towards the aqueduct, he turns and lifts a hand to wave goodbye to Genevieve. She returns the gesture with a grin, and then Marion is gone, leaving the safety of the chapel's walls once again. Throwing himself out to the wolves. There is a part of the dweller that wants to call out, say some form of final farewell. But he manages to contain the desire, not wanting to seem even more strange to the witnesses around the chapel. 

 

(And besides, being silent makes it so much easier to ignore the part of him that wants to ask Marion to stay, even if it's just for a little longer.) 

 

He gazes at the now empty doorway even after Marion has completely disappeared through it, letting out a long sigh before making himself look away from it. Immediately his eyes settle on Genevieve, who is standing closer than before, busily craning her neck and turning in place so she can stare up at the ceiling. 

 

He never knew that the cloths hanging over the rafters could have been so interesting. Though it had been quite some time since he had seen _anyone_ take such an interest in the chapel, if he were being honest. Perhaps she was just considering how dusty they looked? “You can look around if ya want. The incense will keep ya safe from the beasts as long as ya stay inside.” 

 

“Hmm.” Genevieve's eyes continue soaking in the room around her until her gaze turns towards where the old woman is sitting. She stares in that direction for a long moment before turning back to face the dweller. “Perhaps later.” 

 

She steps closer towards the dweller and sits down; he is so unused to people coming up to him so brazenly he cannot help but shrink back a little before he can stop himself. Thankfully she doesn't seem to notice his discomfort, too preoccupied with trying to straighten the blanket so wraps around her evenly. He takes the handful of seconds her distraction provides him with to carefully school his expression into something more neutral. Less pained. 

 

Thankfully, she doesn't give him any strange looks when she looks at him. He can only hope that means he pulled it off. "So what do you usually do here, sir?" 

 

"I just sit here and keep watch over the chapel, I suppose." Genevieve scrunches up her nose in response and the dweller chuckles. "'s not the most exciting thing, but it's important work." 

 

"You don't do anything else for fun?" 

 

"Well..." He trails off, realizing that he didn't have an immediate answer. That was a question that deserved some real thought it seemed. Did he do anything for fun? There wasn't really all that much to do in the chapel beyond chores but even those mostly kept him entertained - or at least kept him occupied enough that his mind didn't wander towards dark trails of thought. Though he doubts that a child would derive enjoyment from that. "I don't suppose you'd consider shining the urns fun, would you?" 

 

Genevieve giggles. "No, I wouldn't. I do like to draw though, and look at bugs. And read. Oh! Do you read? Are there books here?" 

 

“Um. No, I don't really, but there are some books lying ‘round that way.” He points towards the open doors that Marion had exited through. There are a few shelves filled with books lining the room just through that doorway, but the dweller hasn’t any idea of what subjects fill them. More than likely they were just religious texts and research dissertations from the college. Likely nothing that would interest a small child. 

 

But surely they could find _something_ for Genevieve, right? 

 

Suddenly the prospect of looking after her seems daunting without Marion’s calm presence. The dweller has never really had to care for someone before. There were very few people willing to let him get even slightly close to them, let alone their children! Still, he did tell Marion that he would watch after her and he was not about to disappoint the hunter or Genevieve - not when he had done so much already to help the dweller with his request and the girl was being so kind. He'll just have to do the best that he can for the both of them. “What sort of things do ya like to read about?” 

 

"Most things, so long as it's not history." The dweller can't help but chuckle as she makes a face. She beams, proud to get such a sound out of him, but then her smile turns sheepish. "I’m not very good at reading though. Mum always says that I need to practice more.” 

 

“That’s all right. In truth, I’m not very good at it either.” The chapel had never prioritized his education and there had been no one else willing to teach him. Much of what he had learned came from following along with a text while listening to the sermons given, and he would be the first to admit that the knowledge gained from that practice was not particularly thorough.  

 

But, in spite of what he considers to be bad news, Genevieve's grin was back. “Then... maybe we could practice together! That way, if we get stuck on a hard word we can help each other.” 

 

The dweller blinks. Then blinks again. "O-oh! Um, I suppose we could. We'll just have to find something that we'll both enjoy." 

 

Was this really happening? Did Genevieve really want to spend time with him? It was baffling; he half expected her to revoke the offer at any moment now, to change her mind and go back to exploring the chapel. Surely that was more interesting than _him_. But the girl just pushes herself up until she's standing and waits for the dweller to do the same. _Well, can't leave her waiting, I suppose..._

 

In spite of the small voice in his head telling him to just let her go off by herself to hunt for a book, the dweller stands for the second time that night. His joints let him know that it is not appreciated. There is a mighty ache in his knees and feet, but he just ignores it in hopes that it'll lessen with some movement. At least this time there are no noises for Genevieve to comment on. "I can't really carry you like Marion had but, ah—" Doubt floods into his veins at the thought of what he is about to offer. Anxiety claws at his throat and he wonders if he should commit or backtrack while he still can. Yet, she has been entrusted into his care and he does not want to let her or Marion down. So he fights against every instinct he has and forces himself to say the words before he can stop himself: "We could hold hands, i-if ya want? Just to make sure ya don't trip over anything." He points towards her blanket, the bottom of which is bunched up on the ground around her feet. He knows well and good from wearing robes his whole life how much of a hazard those few inches of cloth can be. 

 

"Oh." She looks down and notices the extra length of the blanket. Her arms shuffle around beneath the blanket so only one of her hands is holding it closed up near her neck and she sticks out her other hand towards the dweller — who hesitates. It turns out that offering the idea of holding hands and actually doing it are two very different things; this feels nothing like the few times that he has held hands with Marion. Marion is kind and thoughtful and... _different_. 

 

And of course Genevieve is all of those things too but, well, she's not Marion. He doesn't know how to articulate the difference between the two other than that holding Marion's hand feels scary in a good way (most of the time)! He doesn't know how Genevieve will respond to his touch, if she will recoil or flinch or just change her mind and quietly slip her hand out of his. There's so much risk for rejection here in this moment that even if she is the one making the first move he doesn't know if he can take it. 

 

But he also knows that he can't just revoke his offer. He had meant it and he would feel truly awful if she got hurt traversing over the chapel's stairs. With as much subtlety as he can muster, he takes a deep breath and forces his hand out to take her's. Her skin is warm and dry against his own, and so, so soft. Her hand isn't big enough to hold the entirety of his so she just holds onto a few of his fingers, and either ignores or does not notice how they tremble in her grip. It could just be wishful thinking, but the dweller is willing to bet that it is the latter considering her excitement as she begins leading him towards the doorway in an odd waddle to avoid stepping on the blanket. "Come on! Let's go have a look-see." 

 

She doesn't pull her hand away. 

 

She doesn't flinch or make a face or even try to wiggle out of his loose grip. 

 

She just walks, holding his hands as though it's the most normal thing in the world. As though _he_ is the most normal thing in the world.  

 

The weight of the world lifts off the dweller's shoulders and he releases a breath he didn't even realize he was holding in relief. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> not to speak ill of this chpt but.......,.i am big glad i can move past this scene lollllllllllll (´ ∀ ` )

**Author's Note:**

> me busting in through your front door: /╲/╭( •̀ ᗜ •́ )╮/╱
> 
>  
> 
> i have returned with part 2!! ୧[ * ಡ ▽ ಡ * ]୨ and lemme tell ya, getting some of these parts under control was like emotionally wrestling an alligator but i did it! ☆woohoo☆!!
> 
> i hope you enjoyed this installment and if you want to leave a comment i'd love to hear what you thought of it!!


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